"I hope it will be all right," I went on, rather heavily. "Look here, that pretty little fairy would like to know you. She's the Contessa di Ravello. Come along and be introduced." The Boy flung up his head, his blue eyes flashing. "Why am I to be dragged at her chariot wheels?" he demanded. "Oh, rot, my child. Don't put on airs. Men twice your age would snatch at such a chance." "I can't tell what I may be capable of when I'm twice my age. It's difficult enough to know myself now. But I know----" "Come on, do, like the dear Little Old Pal you really are," I cut in. "You don't want to put me in a false position, do you? Besides, I'd like particularly to get your opinion on the Contessa. I may have to ask your advice about something connected with her, later." This fetched him, though with not too good a grace. "You don't know my name," he said, with a return of impishness, as we walked together towards the Contessa. "I think that you have the advantage of me in that way, now." "If you call it an advantage. I had a presentiment you weren't plain mister, so I'm not surprised. You may tell your Countess that my name is Laurence." "Christian name or 'Pagan' name?" "Make the Christian name Roy." In another moment I was introducing Mr. Roy Laurence to the Contessa di Ravello; and as they stood eyeing each other, the fairy Gaetà pulsing with coquetry through all her hot-blooded Italian veins, the Boy aloof and critical, I was struck with the picture that the two figures made.